


An Unfortunate Trip

by Hannigrammatic



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Explosions, Hitchhiking, M/M, Road Trips, Tumblr: hannibalcreative, Well...one :D, Will Graham & Beverly Katz Friendship, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-18 14:21:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8164960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannigrammatic/pseuds/Hannigrammatic
Summary: Will, Beverly, a road trip, and a dramatic accident -all recipe for an unfortunate trip! Featuring a stranger that gives Will the creeps.





	1. Jimmy's Gonna Kill Us

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this first chapter done for almost a week now, I got so excited for this challenge! And, speaking of which, this is my contribution to the [Hannibalcreative's](http://hannibalcreative.tumblr.com/) #Rude Trip!
> 
> YAY =D
> 
> Not beta read, written while having imbibed a large amount of caffeine, and probably riddled with mistakes. BUT, I hope you enjoy anyway ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added like two sentences to make it clearer that Beverly's cellphone is intact but dead, aka useless. In my eventual attempt at editing, I realized I failed to elaborate on that at all! WOOPS. It's fixed<3

They’re a day and a half into their annual road trip when the car quits on them, stranding them both on the side of an empty highway. Will knows next to nothing about cars (the closest he’s come to them on a personal level is in video games, and even then racing isn’t his favorite genre.) His friend opens the hood, and then they’re both coughing at the smoke that billows out at them, Will backing up from his vantage over her shoulder.

“Well fuck,” Bev says succinctly. 

Will blinks between her and the car, which ticks a few last times and then grows silent. There’s a mild scent of something burning, but there doesn’t seem to be any danger of fire. Still, they’re somewhere in California, it’s hot out, and while they have plenty of water still, there’s still is only enough to tide them over to their next stop -well, the intended one.

“Uhm,” Will mumbles. He’s trying to fight the anxiety from rising in his chest, and for a second he feels like he’s winning.

That’s when the fire chooses to start, flickering up from the engine gently and waving at them almost innocently. Beverly stares with him, and they both kind of tilt their heads in sync, as if to question life in that moment.

“GET OUR SHIT!” Will shrieks eventually. 

“YOU GET OUR SHIT!” Beverly snaps.

The fire grows in response. Then they’re both screeching and diving into the front seat as fast as they can, fear and adrenaline boosting their speed. In short time, they manage to grab their bags and Beverly’s suitcase. It takes a second trip to snatch as many snacks and the case of bottled water from the trunk, and then the drag their belongings as far from the flaming vehicle as possible. Finished, they stand panting, leaning against each other with sweat soaking their hair and shirts. The fire blazes ever higher, brighter and all-consuming, devouring all that it touches. 

“Jimmy’s going to fucking kill me,” Will hears his friend muttering beside him.

“ _I’m_ going to fucking kill you,” he snaps.

“What? This isn’t my fault!”

“Bullshit! You were _driving_!”

They bicker for several frustrating moments, until the gusto of their anger fades and they look with wide eyes at the vehicle they had been in moments prior. Despite his nerves, Will is exceptionally happy that they are both safe.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Fuck the car. It’s its own fault then, okay?”

Beverly’s nostrils flare, black eyes narrowed fiercely. She takes in Will’s word slowly, and then begins to deflate. Her expression grows weary instead.

“What the hell are we going to do now?” she asks.

Will opens his mouth to respond, and is promptly floored by the car finally exploding. It’s just like in the movies, only louder, and most definitely more _real_. The shock wave makes them stumble, and Will goes down with a shout and lands amongst their stuff. The fire, now climbing high into the sky, seems to mock them.

“Well, at least we got our stuff?” Bev comments, attempting to lighten the situation with a humorous tone.

It falls short when Will remembers something very damning.

“My cell was on the dash,” he says with mounting horror. “Did you grab it?”

“What? NO.”

This starts part two of the bickering match, Beverly’s hands on her hips as she stares down at her friend sprawled on the ground. Will knows it’s the fear of being stranded out here with no way to call for help that makes him catty (Beverly's phone has been dead for a while, and sadly the old car just didn't have the means to charge it) -still, it takes them a while to fall into a mutual, angry silence. He climbs to his feet with a barely audible huff, and then winces. He’d crushed the last bag of Doritos in his fall. 

Of course.

“Let’s just stay here,” Beverly eventually begins. “And wait for someone to drive by. It’s not like they can miss the fucking bon fire.”

It seems like a good idea at the time. They arrange a blanket onto the dirt at the side of the highway, sitting on it and leaning against their bags. There’s a light chatter after a while, the kind that is a testament to their friendship, as they can laugh and joke despite the crappy situation. Beverly is all sorts of an ‘in the moment kinda gal’, and she appears to dismiss their woes, both brought to light by their angry words and by the still flaming car several yards away. Even the fact that their one surviving cell phone was useless didn't appear to deter her from cracking a joke about the expression on Will's face when the fire started.

* * * *

Four hours pass, and the sun is starting to set. Will manages to doze off somehow, even with the heat soaking him. He’s shed his shirt and lays on his bag in his shabby pair of sweatpants. Beverly is still sitting up, determined to spot a vehicle with her hawk-sharp eyes. When he wakes up, she passes him the bottle that she’d been drinking from, and he takes a grateful sip.

“Well this isn’t going as planned,” she says carefully.

“The car dying or us waiting for help?” Will teases to assure her that he’s not mad, at her or in general.

“All of it.”

They share a short, mutually self-depreciative laugh. Then, together, they look up at the clear blue sky as it continues to turn purple, and then dark blue, and then eventually black, dotted for miles around with stars. It’s a beautiful night.

It’s also a cold one, they learn very quickly.

Layers are added, sweaters and socks and light jackets. They share a box of Twinkies and a can of warm soda, and talk about how pissed off Jimmy won't actually be, since he has a new, shiny car that has been his pride and joy for a while now. Will thinks they will get a stern scolding, and then a hug for being alive. He’s sure Jimmy’s boyfriend, Brian, will probably be more angry, but he’s not certain since he doesn’t know the guy very well.

“We should probably not tell Alana about this,” Beverly says, and she looks like she wants to take the words back immediately.

“You want to lie to your girlfriend?” Will almost snorts. 

Once upon a time, he’d had the worst crush on Alana Bloom. Gorgeous, smart, and caring, he couldn’t even feel bad for it, though now he looks at her strictly as a friend. It had been a rather awkward situation, when Beverly had excitedly introduced her new girlfriend to Will. She’d wordlessly sought his blessing, since they were almost as close as siblings. He’d had her back then, and he would now, if it were required of him.

“Ugh, no. Nevermind,” black eyes roll skyward.

Will can still see her clearly in the light from the fire. It’s glorious and gorgeously bright, and he wants it to be a regular bonfire. He wants music and an ocean-side, too. They drift, conversation fading as they grow tired. It’s beautiful outside, and there are insects buzzing and singing. In the far, far distance, something howls, shattering their calm and reminding them that they are in the middle of nowhere with no mode of transportation or any kind of shelter to keep them safe.

“Hold me!” Beverly whines almost immediately.

Will obeys and wraps an arm around her shoulders, and together they huddle. It is during this moment that they become aware of a sound that had hitherto been absent -that of an engine, running. Sure enough, when Will looks up, a disgustingly huge amount of hope surging through him, he spots headlights. 

“Look!” he shouts, scrambling to his feet.

He ignores Beverly’s complaint at being bodily discharged, and rushes into the middle of the road. He’s waving near frantically by the time his friend joins him, and then she joins, shouting happily and perhaps slightly demandingly. The vehicle heading their way slows to a halt, thankfully, stopping not too far from their own ruined car. It’s dark, so they can’t see in the window. The door opens in due time, and a tall figure steps out. Will stops waving and feels something in his stomach drop, suddenly second-guessing himself. There’s something wrong, he realizes very quickly, though he’s not sure why.

“Let’s wait until another car comes by,” Will hisses, taking a step back.

The tall person is far enough away from the fire’s diminishing light that their face is in shadow. Will can tell that the person is a man, dressed head-to-toe in something black. 

“What? Are you _insane_?” Beverly shrugs his searching hand off and struts forward. “Hi! Can you give us a lift? Our car bit the dust.”

“Rather dramatically, I would say,” the man agrees, voice raised to cover the distance.

He’s got an accent that Will can’t place, and he’s still in shadow. Nervous, and growing more so by the second, he follows his friend, more for her safety than any genuine want to see this man up close. He’s not sure why his body is reacting this way, instincts raging against his guts. 

“Oh, yeah,” Bev laughs loudly, relief in her voice. “It started smoking at first. Didn’t think it would explode, though.”

The man tilted his head in agreeance, and then stepped into the light. He was probably in his mid-thirties or early forties, a good chunk of years older than both of the stranded young adults. He was wearing, oddly enough, a charcoal grey suit, as if he’d just stepped out of a fancy party with cocktails and classical music. Will instantly dislikes him -even if he is impossibly handsome, with neatly parted light blond hair, and regal features. He looks exotic, like he doesn’t belong here on this road in nowheresville.

“Rather unfortunate indeed,” the man says. He folds his arms behind his back and stands tall and proper. “But, fortunately for you both, I have plenty of room. Where are you heading?”

“No-” Will attempts to speak.

“Next town over!” Beverly crows. “Anywhere with a motel, really. And a phone.”

She adds the last part with a curious tilt of her head.

“Dead, sadly,” the man says, as if in answer to her silent question. “I managed to take a wrong turn previously, and have paid for it with a drained battery.”

Beverly laughs, and Will snorts at the irony. The sound draws the man’s attention to him, and Will very nearly scowls. He figures at the last second that that wouldn’t be very polite, and endeavors to avoid eye-contact instead. 

The man gives him the chills, bad.

“However,” the stranger continues. “I know exactly where I’m going presently, if you would both join me.”

 _Getting serious horror-movie vibes here_ , Will thinks with a slight shudder. Again, the man looks at him, and Will unfortunately catches the other’s eyes briefly. They’re red in the firelight, like a demon’s eyes. 

“Sure, just let us grab our stuff,” Beverly heads over to their bags starts to tidy the snacks into her suitcase.

She either doesn’t care about how creepy the guy unquestionably is, or doesn’t notice it whatsoever. Will guesses a little bit of both, knowing that he is sensitive to the auras that others emanate. He’s always been like that, since he was a very little boy, knowing instinctively what kids to avoid, and what shortcuts not to take in the city. Now, his very insides are screaming _danger danger_. However, like his best friend, he doesn’t want to stay stranded here as night continues to falls heavily around them. And so, with one last glance at the man waiting patiently for them to join him, he helps Beverly with their baggage, and then slowly approaches their would-be savior, standing bravely in front of his friend just in case.

“I’m Will,” he states loudly, once they are standing closer.

“Pleasure to meet you, Will,” the man inclines his head, and Will nearly bristles at how similar to a reptile he is. Or a bird. The stranger continues; “I am Hannibal.”

“Awesome name,” Beverly chirps. “I’m Beverly, but please call me Bev. And thanks, man. You’re a real life-saver.”

Hannibal’s smile has a sticky quality to it, and Will sniffs, wanting to step away. Red-brown eyes dance his way again, and in them, Will can almost imagine that the mirth is coupled with knowing. Already creeped out, the younger man looks away very quickly.

“You’re most welcome, Bev,” Hannibal says politely. “Come, you may put your belongings in the trunk.”

He helps them haul their stuff into the empty back of the car, a sleek black Bentley. Will’s anxiety spikes at that, and he wonders just what a man, dressed to the nines and driving an expensive, _empty_ car, is doing way out here. The nearest stop was probably a hundred miles off, according to their crude map; the one Will uncrumples from his jacket pocket and studiously stares at after having taken a seat in the front passenger seat. His need to keep his friend safe supersedes his want to stay as far away as possible from Hannibal. Grateful, Beverly sprawls on the seat, using her own jacket as a pillow.

She very quickly falls asleep, after Hannibal has taken his place at the wheel and started the engine. It purrs comfortingly, and he pulls away from the wrecked remnants of Jimmy’s car. Will watches it disappear in the rear-view mirror, where he’s also keeping an eye on Beverly as she nods off.

“What are you two doing out here, if I may ask?” Hannibal’s accent drives Will bonkers, foreign as it is -he speaks quietly, which enhances the thickness of it.

“I could ask the same of you,” Will nearly snaps.

Silence stretches between them. Will fights the urge to look at the man, and perseveres for several long moments as he stares at the map even in the darkness of the car. He can feel Hannibal’s gaze on him like a physical weight.

“Are you frightened of me?” he asks, so quiet that Will almost has to strain to hear it.

“No,” he hisses. “It’s just a little suspicious that you’re out here with practically nothing. You don’t even have a bottle of water.”

“I get rather ill if I consume any food or beverages while driving,” Hannibal states simply. “And this drive was supposed to be straightforward.”

Will finally looks over at him and spies a smirk. He sniffs again, and meets the man’s eyes, which are brown and not demon-red. There’s still no part of him that colors Hannibal as safe, but he does let his barriers down the slightest bit. If anything, he figures that he should at least be polite, as the man is giving them a ride.

“I’m just shook up,” Will says begrudgingly. “That car could have exploded while we were in it.”

“Indeed. A rather horrifying thought, I imagine,” Hannibal keeps his voice low so that Beverly can rest.

Will knows his friend is deep asleep when she begins to snore softly. He embarrassingly wonders if Hannibal minds the sound, before shaking the thought loose. There was no sense in worrying about something inane like that when he must keep his guard up. They lapse into silence, and the car moves steadily down the highway. There are no lights this far out, other than the ones on the Bentley. Around them, the desert stretches flat, accompanied by gently rolling hills here and there. Will leans closer to the window and allows himself to enjoy the sight of the bright stars.

He must fall asleep as well, because he’s waking some time later just in time to catch the gas station disappearing behind them from the rear-view mirror.

“Hey!” Will sits up and shouts, miraculously not waking Beverly. “That was a gas station.”

Hannibal doesn’t look away from the road as he speaks: “Yes. I refueled while you slept.”

“We could have used the phone,” Will protests. 

“Yes, but I figured that you both needed the rest,” Hannibal sounds completely unruffled by Will’s distress. “Bev said that she would like for me to bring you both to a place with a motel. That gas station was not a motel, Will.”

His soothing, supposed-to-be comforting words nearly enrage Will. It takes him a long time to reign in his harsh breathing, and to reach any semblance of calm. When he does, he glares at Hannibal blatantly.

“You’re not some psychopath are you?” he asks bluntly.

Hannibal’s bafflement is clear as day, even without light to shine on his features. In seconds, he’s chuckling, and he reaches over and sets a large, heavy hand on Will’s shoulder.

“I am absolutely no danger to you and your friend,” he says, squeezing gently. “I can promise you that.”

Will shrugs the hand off and returns his gaze to the stars, and Hannibal returns his hand to the steering wheel. An hour must pass, or perhaps more, when in the distance, a small town comes into sight. There’s a glaringly bright MOTEL sign that immediately catches Will’s eye. He reaches behind him to shake Beverly awake, ignoring her vocal complaint.

“We’re here,” Will says loudly.

“Ugh,” Beverly moans and sits up, covering her face with both hands and dragging them over her head to gather her heavy black hair into a ponytail. “Oh. Man, I slept like a baby.”

“Glad to hear it,” Will rolls his eyes.

“Welcome back,” Hannibal greets her.

“Hey! It’s the man of the hour,” she smiles sleepily. 

Will refrains from growling just barely. He’s thankful, true enough. However, his body still sings, nerves still sparking, and he’s surprised that he fell asleep at all. He watches with baited breath as they pull into the motel, as if expecting Hannibal to take out a knife and slaughter them. It isn’t until they’re out of the car, room purchased successfully, that he allows himself to accept that he might have been overdoing it on that regard. Hannibal is all smiles and primp and proper handshakes, inclining his head once more when he is thanked profusely -and rather stiffly- by Beverly and Will. He returns to his Bentley, and drives away, the lights disappearing quickly over an incline. Will blinks, and then helps Beverly take their things into the motel room. He’s only just relaxing, an hour later, when Beverly is in the bathroom showering. Her off-tune singing is sadly familiar, and he tunes it out as he flips through the channels blankly. 

He doesn’t know what causes him to stop on the channel, only that he finds himself staring at a black and white picture of Hannibal Lecter, escaped psychopath and serial killer according to the scrolling marquee below the photo. Will drops the remote into his lap, jaw slack.

“BEV!” he nearly bellows.

Will is never going to doubt his instincts again.


	2. Beverly is Ridiculous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is incredibly unimpressed, Beverly doesn't give any fucks, and Hannibal is definitely not stalking them. *coughs*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did get a bit of a headstart (I got the date confused somehow), so here's the second chapter! I had most of it written after finishing the first, and completed it just a few minutes prior to posting ^_^

“Bullshit!” Bev exclaims from where she's standing, one towel wrapped around her body and another enveloping her hair.

“Bullshit _you _!” Will frustratedly snaps at her.__

__He jumps to his feet and gestures emphatically at the television, which has of course switched to a commercial the minute his friend had flounced into the room. He’s still reeling from the glimpse of that familiar, strange face, on the shoddy television screen. He remembers the stone-eyed reporter warning America about the-_ _

__“-we interrupt your regularly scheduled program with breaking news about Hannibal Lecter, the man convicted of killing and eating more than twenty people-”_ _

__Beverly’s mouth snaps shut as she peers at the screen, and Will points triumphantly after the broadcast has passed once more, the BREAKING NEWS fading once more to a commercial about chicken. Will balks._ _

__“Wait,” he says, brain catching up slowly. “Did that reporter just say he was convicted of killing and _eating_ people?”_ _

__“No way,” Bev juts a hip out and sets her hand on it. Her face is bright instead of pale and frightened, as Will knows his own is. “Hannibal. Cannibal. _Hannibal the Cannibal_!”_ _

__She starts guffawing, and her towel slips from her hair with the movement of her head as she threw it back in her mirth. Will blinks at her before he grows quickly frustrated._ _

__“This isn’t even funny,” he snaps. “We just spent several hours in a car with him!”_ _

__“Oh dude, that’s what makes it hilarious!” his friend continues to laugh. “I’m actually a little insulted, even! Do we not look delicious?”_ _

__And she starts snickering, causing Will to sigh loudly and storm away. He hears her calling his name amidst her giggles until he closes the motel door behind him and steps out into the chill night air. His arrival disturbs a man who has been standing nearby smoking, and he grunts before stumbling into the room next to them, slamming the door loudly._ _

__“Yeah, well fuck you too,” Will grouses._ _

__He walks down the cracked walkway, away from his apparently grumpy neighbor. He continues to walk until he’s standing in a patch of dry, pathetic grass, and he scuffs his shoe against it. Motels always made him feel gross, even the better ones (not that there were many of those, and this one certainly didn’t fall anywhere near that line.) He was always loathe to take off his shoes or even sit on the bed._ _

__Out here, he takes a calming breath and exhales it while looking up at the stars, allowing the sight to ground him._ _

___I fucking knew he was a creep_ , he thinks. _ _

__He can understand Beverly’s joking on the matter, despite his reaction -he knows that she deals with negative emotions in her own way. They had been exceptionally lucky not to have been hurt -or killed- by Hannibal as he drove them to their destination. Knowing he had been right to feel off didn’t comfort Will any, however; instead, he merely felt sick._ _

____

* * * *

Later, when Will returns, Beverly is sprawled on her half of the big bed, on the phone with someone. Her cell is plugged in and charging on the table by the window. She raises her brows at him when he hesitantly sits on his side of the mattress, poking at the ugly brown blanket.

 _It’s Jimmy_ , she mouths when he looks over his shoulder at her. He nods and then turns away to start undoing his ratty sneakers. His friend’s voice fades to the background as he thinks about Hannibal Lecter. Impossibly polite, handsome Hannibal Lecter -he’s not above being honest. Of course, their conversation about psychopaths returned to the forefront of his mind, and he realized belatedly that the man had never _denied_ that he was one. Will runs his hands through his hair and refrains from growling.

“Jimmy says hi,” Beverly cuts in just then, tossing her phone onto the nightstand next to her.

“What did he have to say about the car?” he asks absentmindedly. 

“That we’re both dumbasses, and while he loves us, we owe him big time because he’s coming to pick us up himself.”

Will snorts.

“When’s he leaving?”

Beverly scoots lower on the mattress until she’s lying down, and Will smiles when he does the same. She had already covered the pillows with their own towels, and he’s grateful for it. They both lay on their backs and stare up at the off-white ceiling.

“Tomorrow at like 5am,” she says.

“Oh man. He’s going to slap us both,” Will muses with an affectionate smile on his face, before he gives in and lets himself relax on the nasty mattress.

A lot of the time, he imagines all of the bodies that had lain here before him, which is another reason he hates Motels; you exist in a space that isn’t your own. Who knows who had used this room last, what they did in the bed or the bathroom, what they kept in the drawers if they had stayed here long. Could someone like Hannibal have stayed here in this exact room?

Will snorts loudly. 

“What?” Bev inquires sleepily.

Will turns his head on the towel-pillow and smiles at her features, relaxed in near-slumber. Beverly is barely awake, and in that state, you can say anything to her without her actually retaining it.

“I don’t think we need to worry about Hannibal coming back to kill us,” he starts. “This place is so gross.”

Beverly attempts to giggle, far on the way into sleep, and the familiar sound comforts Will in a way that only someone close can manage just by existing. He rolls onto his side and faces her, and then shuts his eyes. And when he sleeps, Will dreams about a road trip that hasn’t gone wrong, and he’s in the passenger seat with a hand hanging out the opened window. Soft music lilts out of the car speakers, and the interior smells fresh, like spearmint. Next to him is Hannibal Lecter, not Beverly Katz, wearing his suit and a content, if slightly conspiratorial smile.

* * * *

Will barely remembers his dream when he wakes up. He’s alone in the bed, and in the motel room in general, as he learns quickly. Taking advantage of that, he strips and takes a quick shower, sighing happily under the spray, and dresses in one of his favorite well-worn sweaters and some sweatpants afterwards. He’s sitting on the bed and pulling on some socks when his friend bursts into the room with a tray, two takeout coffees snug in the cupholders. In her other hand she wiggles a small paper bag of what he’s assuming are donuts or some other pastry.

“Good mornin’, sunshine,” she exclaims. “Here’s your breakfast!”

Will catches the bag with a half-hearted sound of complaint, but digs in happily enough. He’s a sucker for anything sweet, and there’s never any time too late or too early to enjoy a treat. Proving so, he devours four of the chocolate donut holes that he finds within, only partially listening to Beverly talk about the cute barista that she wanted to introduce him to. Will chugs as much of his coffee as he can manage, after giving it a few minutes to cool down, and then finishes off the bag.

“You could have shared,” his friend quips good-naturedly. 

“You only got six,” he remarks. “Get more next time.”

Beverly rolls her eyes as he swallows his last mouthful of chocolate and coffee. He tosses the bag over his shoulder and doesn’t pay attention to where it lands, suddenly distracted by a fact he hadn’t considered somehow.

“We’re stuck here for almost two days,” he nearly whispers. “Oh my god, Bev. Kill me now.”

“Don’t be so dramatic. We can go out and explore or something. There’s a pretty retro-looking diner nearby.”

“Definitely how I want to spend my vacation,” Will mutters, before falling onto the bed and attempting to suffocate himself. 

“Baby,” Bev grouses.

She shuts the door behind her once she’s in the bathroom, and Will listens to the shower start up seconds later. He wonders if she feels as gross as he does, even after his own time spent under the suitably hot spray; the feeling of cleanliness had lasted about five minutes maybe. He rolls onto his back and thinks about Hannibal Lecter again, remembering snatches of his dream just then, and frowns deeply. _Thanks, brain, but I’d rather not think about a cannibalistic serial killer. Nice of you to suggest the topic, though._

Later, they go to the diner regardless of Will’s more or less unimpressed air, and order eggs, bacon, and toast. Will declines having more coffee and opts for a strawberry milkshake, which improves his mood significantly. The food isn’t bad, either, and he munches through the sizeable dish. Beverly is tapping away at her phone, probably texting Alana, and he thinks about teasing her. Instead, he gets up and follows the bright signs on the ceiling that lead to the bathroom. It’s tiny inside, with two stalls and two urinals, the latter of which are far too close to the sinks for his taste.

He’s zipping up and taking a step towards the aforementioned sink when the door behind him opens with a gentle squeak. Will twists the tap and begins to wash his hands, avoiding any sort of eye-contact instinctively. 

“Hello again,” a horribly familiar voice says, deep and warm and accented -and close. “Will, wasn’t it?”

Will’s blue eyes snap up to the mirror, through which he can see Hannibal Lecter. His face is unmistakable, even without it being broadcast over America: features sharp and elegant, cheekbones high, nose regal with a faded scar over the bridge of it, and lips full and nearly pouty. His hair is darker and shorter, however, than the last time Will had seen him, when it had been nearly silver and parted neatly. He’s dressed in a black hoody and dark blue jeans, and wears a pair of hiking boots. 

“Get away from me,” Will hisses when he can find his voice.

Hannibal raises one pale brow before he takes a step closer instead. At the last second, the man turns and then loudly unzips his jeans, leaving Will to balk at his profile in the mirror. His cheeks redden in embarrassment as the older man proceeds to urinate, before tucking himself away and zipping back up. It’s that sound that finally urges Will to move, instead of standing there frozen to the spot like a dumbass -or try, anyway. He’s reaching for the door when the man’s hand clamps around his wrist, and Will growls angrily, tamping down his fear as self-preservation climbs into the forefront of his mind. He struggles pointedly, attempting to tear his hand away.

“Listen, Will,” Hannibal sounds nearly urgent. “Don’t fight me. I mean you no harm.”

“Let go!” Will almost shouts. Hannibal is impossibly strong, and it’s veritably terrifying.

Surprisingly, the convicted serial killer does, obeying him soundlessly, hand dropping to his side. Brown eyes continue to stare at him beseechingly, and though Will determinedly refuses eye-contact, he can feel the gaze. His chest heaves with the panic and anger suffusing his body.

“What do you want?” Will demands. “Are you following us now?”

Hannibal tilts his head in that infuriating way, before speaking; “No. I only knew that you were likely here once I spotted Miss Beverly seated in the diner.”

“And when did you ‘spot’ her?” Will doesn’t believe for a second that Hannibal isn’t up to something nefarious.

“Just now, as I entered the diner to relieve myself,” Hannibal insists. “Will, please believe me. I am no danger to you or to your friends.”

Somehow, through his anger and his fear, Will believes Hannibal when he says that. He’s not sure what that says about him, other than that he must be crazy too, sympathizing in any way with a psychopath. Still, he takes a step away, again and again until he hits the door, chest heaving slightly.

“I ask that you not mention seeing me in here,” Hannibal speaks after a long moment of silence, and his head tilts again as if he’s listening to something. “Your friend is likely wondering what is taking you so long. Farewell, Will.”

Will doesn’t answer, neither to agree to the man’s request, or to return the favor of saying goodbye. He ducks his head, palms at the door handle behind him, and then slips out quickly and walks fast over to the booth where Beverly is still on her phone. She looks away for a split second, takes in his red face, and raises a single brow.

“Everything okay?” she inquires neutrally. 

“Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah everything just spectacular,” Will snorts, amused at himself. “Just uh, saw something I’d be fine with not seeing ever again.”

 _It’s not a lie_ , he thinks humorlessly. 

“Ew,” his friend giggles at his misfortune. “Hey, let’s go for a walk, look around and see if there’s anything going on in this town.”

“Or I could go back to the motel and sleep until Jimmy gets here.”

Beverly’s brow raises again at his tone, and he stares into her black eyes for all of five seconds before rolling his skyward and giving in with a dramatically loud sigh. He happens to look behind her for a split second, and just in time to spot Hannibal making his leave -brown eyes snap onto him as if by magnetic force, and Will can actually feel his face going white. _Please leave please leave_ , he thinks desperately. The serial killer does, looking away with a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Will watches him until he disappears around the corner of one side of the diner.

“Helloooo,” Beverly waves a hand in front of his face, annoyed. “What the hell is wrong with you, man?”

“Nothing!” Will swats at her hand. “I just don’t feel good. I hate being stranded here.”

Beverly’s features ease out of her mild offence at being ignored, arranging into something resembling sympathy. She knows he doesn’t have time for that, though, and the expression quickly disappears from her face. They get up after leaving bills on the table for the waitress to collect, including a moderately generous tip on his friend’s part (Will smacks her shoulder when he catches her winking at the blonde woman on the way out, dutifully ignoring the excuses that follow but knowing that Beverly’s flirting is absolutely harmless anyway.)

* * * *

The day passes surprisingly quickly.

When they return to the motel, there’s a basket sitting outside their door, miraculously untouched. Will wouldn’t put it past their neighbor to have stolen it, had they not arrived when they did. Curious, Will picks it up first, and Beverly digs around in the tissue paper excitedly. Very quickly, he learns that there’s a large bottle of _good_ whiskey, a bar of expensive chocolate, and a small card.

“Someone loves us!” Beverly exclaims.

“Or it’s the wrong door,” Will states, deadpan. 

“No way,” she considers that possibility with a childish frown, and then digs after the card to open it. “Nope! ‘Dear Will and Beverly, I wanted to thank you for your friendly company. In exchange for that, I offer these goods, so that may remember me kindly.’ Signed, Hannibal Lecter. Wow, he really goes all out, huh?”

“Oh my god,” Will nearly drops the basket, and Beverly squeals, securing it and then taking it entirely. “We can’t accept this, Bev!”

“Dude, maybe your conscience says you can’t, but mine says fuck that,” she unlocks the motel door and sidles inside, basket and all, leaving Will to stare after her with his jaw open.

 _How did he get that here so fast?_ he wonders. There was no way that the man could have managed to purchase the items in the basket, bring it here, and then leave without being seen, especially after having only left the diner a few minutes before they did. Suspicious, Will looks around him, turning in a paranoid circle. The sun is beginning to set, covering the small town in a gentle darkness. There’s a few cars in the parking lot, and all of them are empty. Will huffs, follows his friend into the motel, and shuts the door, firmly locking it afterwards.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says immediately.

Beverly is sprawled out on the bed, having not even removed her shoes (not that it mattered), and the whiskey is opened. She takes an uncaring gulp right out of the bottle, not having bothered searching for cups, and she salutes him with it afterwards.

“It’s just alcohol,” she responds, ignoring him. “Come over here.”

Will crosses his arms. 

“It’s the best whiskey I’ve ever had, Will,” the woman sits up and stares at him with wide eyes, face absolutely serious. “The _best_.”

The ugly clock hanging on the wall above the door ticks and tocks, and Will stands at the foot of the bed stubbornly. Beverly takes another long drink and smacks her lips afterwards.

“The burn hurts sooo good,” she mock-moans. 

Will’s left eye twitches. His nostrils flare, picking up the scent of alcohol. The clock continues to tick rudely.

“You can have all of the chocolate,” his friend finally compromises.

“Uuuuugh,” Will throws his hands in the air and draws out the sound of frustration needlessly, before launching himself onto the bed and crawling up it to lean against the paint-chipped headboard. “Give it here.”

“Yeah, boy!” Beverly whoops victoriously, hands him the bottle, and smiles at him as he takes a long pull of the most delicious whiskey _ever_.

“Oh my god,” he says again, only this time his voice is full of awe.

It’s not a small bottle, either. They do finish it off, growing tipsy and then drunk quickly, though not ridiculously so. The chocolate is shared despite the compromise, and they both moan at the rich, dark taste of it. Will grabs the basket at one point, distantly watching the card flutter away and land on the floor, and wears it like a strange hat, the tissue paper arranged on his head like a bizarre, lavender-colored wig. They spend the night laughing loudly, rolling around on the mattress, and turning the television up way too loud. 

Will is able to forget that they are enjoying a present left by a serial killer -a cannibal-, for a little while.


	3. Will is Getting Tired

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will definitely doesn't find out that Hannibal has been staying in the motel room next door. Beverly just wants everyone to know that she loves her girlfriend. Hannibal is bad at laying low.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta read!

Will rolls over, attempting to escape the evil ray of sunlight stabbing his face, letting out a sound of complaint that his best friend echoes when he bumps into her. Something falls onto the carpeted floor with a loud _thunk_ , and he sits up quickly, chest tight.

“Oh fuck,” he says, then promptly lays down again. “Beverly, what the fuck?”

“Whaaa?” she grumbles and waves a dismissive, flailing hand at him. 

“The whiskey,” he whispers, eyes wide.

“S’good,” she finishes for him.

Will nods even though she can’t see him, quickly becoming aware that he may still be slightly buzzed. His head is already starting to hurt, thanks to the speed at which he consumed the whiskey, which had _definitely_ been good. He doesn’t remember the chocolate, but he can spot the gold foil wrapping somehow stuck to the wall nearby. He stumbles to his feet and grips the wall on the way to the bathroom to empty his painfully full bladder. 

Afterwards, he stares at his reflection in the mirror: hair mussed, sticking up more on one side of his head, cheeks rosy pink, and shirt hanging open, he can admit that he’s looked better. 

“Let me in,” Beverly is suddenly pounding at the door.

She bursts in before he can open it to admit her, and charges forward, already undoing her pants. Will grunts at her as he leaves the bathroom, shutting the door on the sound of her happily sighing with a roll of his eyes. The motel room is in slight disarray, the uncomfortable wooden chairs on either side of the tiny round table by the window upended. The table itself is home to an assortment of hairspray, shampoo, and an unzipped bag featuring Beverly’s modest makeup collection. Their suitcases lay unzipped near the clunky combination television stand and dresser.

“Your phone is flashing,” Will informs his friend.

Beverly returns with a yawn, arms stretching high into the air. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail and her face is damp from a fresh wash -she scrubs a hand sleepily across it and groans loudly at her phone, and Will returns the sound in a questioning tone, too tired to form proper words. He sits on the bed and drags his fingers through his tangled hair, half paying attention to the woman tapping on her phone and half wanting to go back to sleep.

“Alana is mad at me,” Beverly announces, wincing. “She told me that accepting whiskey and chocolate from a serial killer is stupid, and that I should be ashamed of myself.”

“I could have told you that,” he snickers at her halfhearted glare in his direction, catching it as he looks up. “She’s just worried.”

“I know. But I hate being babied, and it’s not like any of it was poisoned,” she flails one hand in the air as she complains. “Plus it helped pass the time. So bonus there.”

Will concedes that point. He wonders if he should take a shower before he opts to just sleep until Jimmy arrives. It would be very easy to do that right now, he thinks, with how heavy his body feels. His bones ache, and keeping his eyes open is an actual issue. Beverly seems to have fared better, as she appears well-rested and ready to start the day.

“I’m going to get us some coffee,” she speaks without looking up from her phone, her furious texting letting Will know that Alana was currently up as well. “Be back.”

“Okay,” he speaks too late, the room already empty. 

He casts a weary look around him, silently agreeing with Alana. They should have just thrown the basket out, or offered it to their neighbor. Unfortunately, the deed was done, so he shook the thought away and decided some fresh air would improve everything drastically. Morning chill sneaks in quickly, soothing the thin layer of sweat from the night and lifting his spirits minutely. The parking lot is empty save for an old Prelude and a silver hybrid that Will blinks at.

It’s facing him, and there’s a man sitting behind the wheel with a familiar silhouette. 

“You have got to be kidding me,” Will says as the door opens.

Hannibal Lecter is dressed in the same clothes, the hood up and covering most of his features. He’s wearing a baseball hat that looks horribly out of place on his head, and he’s holding a grocery bag full to nearly bursting. In his free hand is a glittering key with a bright orange fob.

“Will,” he says, voice sounding genuinely shocked but undeniably pleased. “Good morning.”

Will completely disregards the man’s greeting and crosses his arms. When Hannibal comes to a stop near him, he retreats a step.

“You _are_ stalking us,” he growls, stomach sinking. “I fucking knew it.”

“Nonsense,” brown eyes blink slowly at him, head tilted curiously. _Fucking lizard_ , Will thinks. “I’m staying at this motel. Or rather, I have been.”

Blinking, Will digests that. He spies the number on the orange fob, and then snaps his gaze to the room next to theirs.

“There?” he asks, disbelief clouding his voice and his mind. “The entire time?”

“Indeed,” a single nod, Hannibal’s brow raising. “I assure you, I’m merely attempting to lay low. And I hardly think stalking you is going to make that any easier.”

Will opens and closes his mouth, realizes that there’s nothing he could possibly say that would make the situation change, and then nods stiffly. He leans cooly against his door and looks determinedly away from Hannibal. The man in question appears to pause, plastic bag rustling at his side in a breeze that makes its way through the parking lot. Finally, he begins to walk once more, heading towards the door.

“Before I go,” he speaks quickly. “I want to thank you.”

“You already did,” Will mutters, eyes fixed on a blade of grass squeezing up through the walkway nearby. 

“Of course. I trust my gift found you and Beverly well?” 

Hannibal’s voice is deep, rumbling in Will’s brain pleasantly and dangerously. Will knows the man uses it to his advantage with every single word spoken: he pronounces everything carefully, and Will imagines each conversation is tailored to his exact desires, or to create an expected outcome. He decides not to answer the man at all. 

“Although,” Hannibal continues after a moment. “I wanted to also thank you for remaining quiet. Most people would be itching to contact a hotline as soon as possible, in case there is some type of reward.”

“Yeah, well I’m not most people,” he wishes he could take the words back almost immediately, having meant to say ‘I just want to go to bed and mind my own damn business’ or something of the like.

“No,” Hannibal’s smile is heard, causing Will’s body to tingle unpleasantly at how pleased the man sounds. “You truly aren’t.”

The last word is spoken with something akin to affection. Will finally looks over at Hannibal, meeting his red-brown eyes briefly, brow furrowed and mouth opened with the intent to refute him -instead, he snaps his jaw shut with a click and swiftly turns around, opening the motel door. Will pauses before he can enter the room.

“Don’t speak to me anymore,” he forces himself to say. He casts one last look at the older man. “You’re already risking drawing unwanted attention.”

“Of course,” Hannibal inclines his head. “Might I ask one last question, Will?”

Nostrils flaring, Will nods once.

“Do you believe that I am a psychopath?”

 _I believe that you’re dangerous_ , Will doesn’t say. He doesn’t answer either, merely snorting before he steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. Through it, he can hear when Hannibal returns to his own room, and only then does he allow himself to let out a stuttering breath. The clock above him ticks loudly as he stands there, disquiet echoing in his very bones.

* * * *

Beverly comes back later, armed with two extra large coffees and two breakfast sandwiches from a fastfood restaurant down the street from the motel. Will is considerably calm, having had enough time to mask his shock at having encountered Hannibal once more. As he eats, he can’t shake the fact that the man had spoken so familiarly with him, as if the two of them were friends instead of virtual strangers. And, as he is chewing his last mouthful of egg and cheese and greasy bread, he realizes something that throws everything off even more.

The man outside, the neighbor, hadn’t been Hannibal that first night. He remembers the smell of unwashed clothes, cigarette smoke, and the man himself not appearing to be tall at all. Portly, older, probably -a truck driver or something similar. Hannibal couldn’t have been in the room next to them the entire time. Heart skipping a beat, Will is certain quite suddenly, that their neighbor had met an untimely end at Hannibal Lecter’s hands. Yes, he could have checked out in the morning, but Will feels something deep in his gut that seems to confirm his suspicions. 

“You’re a horrible friend,” Beverly’s voice breaks into his thoughts. “I’m telling you about my girlfriend, for god’s sake! At least try to pretend to care.”

“You already told me about the time you and Alana got drunk and went to church,” he rolls his eyes at her, recalling a snatch of the conversation.

“Well, did I tell you that we made out behind the altar after everyone left?” she’s sprawled on the bed and half under her favorite travel blanket. Outside, noon has taken over. “Ugh, Will, you’re so boring when you’re thinking.”

He snorts from where he’s sitting on one of the wooden chairs, righted at some point during the morning. His head feels much better, though his hangovers aren’t often too horrible to begin with. And while they had consumed the delicious whiskey too quick, it still wasn’t enough to leave him begging for death like he often did after a full night of drinking. Those days were few and far between now, of course. 

“I’d be offended if I didn’t like you so much,” he responded. “Sorry, though. I’m just feeling floaty right now.”

“Same, dude,” Beverly rolls onto her side and faces him, head coming to rest in one palm as she leans on an elbow. “How weird was that, though? I mean I loved the gift, but what the fuck? What happened to the card, anyway?”

Shrugging, Will stands and stretches. It feels beyond good, his tired muscles aching pleasantly at the end. In his pocket, the card is gently crumpled, and he reaches in to touch it with one finger briefly. He pretends that his heart isn’t beating, mumbles that he needs some fresh air. When he closes the door behind him, he expects his friend to follow, but she doesn’t, leaving him to stare uncertainly at the shaded windows in the room next to them.

He knocks before he can convince himself not to.

“Will,” Hannibal is dressed more appropriately once more, a soft-looking maroon sweater hugging his chest and muscular arms and trim waist. “Come in.”

And like a child unknowing, he steps into the monster’s lair. 

Somehow, he’s shocked that the room is the same as his own, right down to the unfortunate clock on the wall. The bed is made and doesn’t appear to have seen any use recently. Everything is clean, and Hannibal’s belongings are tucked away out of sight. Will shuffles away when the man shuts the door softly, and claims one of the chairs by the window and the faded beige curtains.

“Did you kill the guy renting this room, or did you just wait for him to leave?” Will chooses to get right to the point, while Hannibal sits in the other chair and folds his hands in his lap politely.

“You met him,” Hannibal doesn’t ask so much as state.

“Sort of. I think I startled him. But I did see him, more or less.”

Hannibal’s face seems to glow in the shaft of light cutting in through curtain, his dyed hair appearing red in the brightness. Similarly, his eyes are those of demons once more, and Will stares into both of them unflinchingly with much effort. In them, he sees _nothing_. No indication of what he had or had not done, no emotion or tell. Frustrated, Will looks away.

“I believe you already know the answer to your question,” Hannibal answers after a moment. “Maybe now you’d like to answer mine.”

Will crosses his arms defensively, as if that could contain the emotion in his heart and the nerves squeezing his guts. He’s frightened, would be insane not to be, sitting in a room with a serial killer. Every bone in his body knows for a fact that a man died here recently, and that Hannibal Lecter, all charm and creepy tilting head, is responsible. And dangerous. Yet, he’s the one _sitting in a room with a serial killer_...

“I must be insane to be here,” Will remarks aloud.

“Or curious,” Hannibal’s mouth twitches, and Will thinks he imagines one corner of his lips lifting in a smirk. “Or perhaps you are indeed insane.”

“Do you think I’m a psychopath?” Will asks quickly before he can lose the courage to.

He feels like he’s in over his head here, the conversation filling him with dread -and curiosity, more and more of it. Hannibal Lecter doesn’t just _look_ interesting.

“Why are you really here?” Hannibal questions him. “I find myself the curious one, considering you told me never to speak to you again.”

 _Is this the part where I admit I’m the cat that’s likely to get killed?_ , he asks himself. Outwardly, he shrugs one shoulder. 

“We’re often drawn to what is most dangerous to us,” Will decides to detour around the truth.

“You want to know me,” Hannibal states. 

Will’s stomach lurches. Butterflies flutter against his insides, and he feels his palms begin to sweat. The constant warning to _run, run far away_ pulls his muscles taut with hard tension. 

“I imagine there are crazier things in the world,” Will finally speaks, voice hoarse with emotion he cannot control, not nearly as in command of his body as Hannibal is of his own.

Frankly, Will has no fucking clue what he’s really doing here. Call it curiosity, if it required a title. Somehow, knowing it could kill him only made the temptation to remain stronger. So Will sits there in the dim room with Hannibal Lecter, trying to corral his thoughts into some semblance of sanity. He knows he should get up and leave before Beverly comes looking for him.

Will doesn’t move.


	4. Hannibal Lecter Smiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy finally arrives to rescue his wayward friends, and the failed road trip comes to a true end. Will doesn't miss Hannibal at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the end for now! I will revisit this, however, in a future event :D I'm aware there wasn't much Hannigram action, but this will eventually be something of a series (with this building a bit of the 'verse). Or at least something that will be revisited~ I honestly wanted to write something that wasn't entirely Hannigram-focused! I feel I have achieved that for the most part! ^_^ Thank you for joining me ♥
> 
> Not beta read.

Beverly is still sprawled across the bed when he comes back, horizontally this time, her short body barely covering the width of the mattress. She looks about ready to sleep -more, that is. She must have dozed off while he was away. When she hears him, she quickly turns away, as if to hide something. Will strips out of his sweater, blinking silently at her. The room is warm now, or perhaps he is. His skin feels simultaneously clammy and prickled with gooseflesh, similar to the heat of a fever. Will knows that he’s just riding the aftereffects of having spent the last hour hanging out with Hannibal the Cannibal. 

He winces inwardly at the nickname.

“I went for a walk,” he says as he walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. “You hear from Jimmy?”

“Yeah, he’s going to be here soon, probably tonight if he’s not driving like a bat out of hell.” Beverly’s voice is stuffy and watery.

She turns around until she’s facing him, and he looks over his shoulder at her. She’s all messy hair and makeup-smudged eyes, cheeks puffy and pink.

“Have you- uhm,” he coughs and continues, opting to change his question. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she sniffs loudly. “Just girl things.”

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Will nods. He gets up and shuffles to the bathroom, shuts the door behind him, and then leans against it. His mind feels hollow all of a sudden. He can’t believe that he stayed. Even if it wasn’t for a long time, he’d still consciously chosen to sit in the room next door and converse with a madman. What’s more, now that he knew Jimmy would arrive soon, he had an absurdly irrational fear that he would never see Hannibal Lecter again. He shuts his eyes, nearly appalled at himself.

The shower feels nice, the spray stuttering slightly but still hot as it could go (which wasn’t quite enough, to be honest, especially with how he felt like he wanted to burn away his sins currently.) He runs his hands through his hair and sighs as water runs down his face and drips off of his upper lip. He can taste the chlorine in it. The bathroom is full of steam when he switches the water off and steps out to wrap one of Beverly’s fluffy towels around him, forgoing drying himself in favor of wiping at the mirror to stare long into his own eyes.

Will is surprised to find that he’s not feeling guilty about keeping quiet about Hannibal. It’s an honest truth that should shake him, but it doesn’t. Suddenly, he feels like his curiosity must be deeper than that, bordering on interest, albeit a careful amount. The man himself made Will want to know more; he was still a murderer, and an alleged cannibal.

“Are you almost done?” Beverly’s voice is muffled on the other side of the door. 

“Yeah,” he answers. “Sec!”

He dries and dresses in a pair of blue sweatpants, and dons one of his favorite hoodies. He flips up the hood and stares at himself again, just for a second. Then he’s opening the door and letting himself and a cloud of steam out, and Beverly is dancing past him to claim the toilet. He’s quick to jump onto the bed and bundle up with her abandoned blanket, feeling chilled to the bone in a way he suspects is more than physical. Beverly returns and jumps into bed next to him, stealing a corner of the blanket and huddling close.

“It’s a shitty day,” she announces.

“You get in a fight with Alana?” he asks after nodding along in agreeance.

“No,” she answers too quickly, and then, “How did you know?”

“She’s the only one that can make you cry,” Will feels bad after saying the words, but doesn’t retract them.

“You make her sound like a bitch, saying it that way,” black eyes narrow at him, and Beverly sniffs.

“I didn’t mean it that way. I just know you love her more than you do anything else.”

They fall into a mutual silence, her contemplating his words, and he contemplating her. He knows that when Beverly and Alana met, it had been similar to the myth of love at first sight. They just clicked, and anything Will had felt for Alana Bloom at the time had almost immediately faded, both in defeat and in deference to his best friend. He wanted nothing more than for her to be happy. And Beverly, having always been a firm believer in one-night stands, found herself in a proper relationship for the first time. She was bound to make a mistake or two, just as anyone was.

Will wraps an arm around her.

“I know you’re calling yourself a fuck-up at the moment, but you’re totally wrong,” he tells her, meaning to comfort her and reinstate a fact. “Whatever it was about, it doesn’t mean that.”

“She was really mad about the whiskey,” the woman whispers, letting out a single giggle. “I really didn’t think about any of the consequences of that. I just wanted some booze, you know? Especially after the car thing.”

Beverly makes a loud noise of defeat and flops her head onto his shoulder.

“I’m already really bad at this relationship thing,” she goes on. “But it’s even harder having to think about it all from her perspective, as well as mine.”

Will nods and holds her tighter, thinking about his own sin of omission regarding Hannibal Lecter. He feels guilt finally, but only regarding the fact that it was wrong to lie to those you loved. He very nearly confesses right then, about seeing the serial killer at the diner, and just earlier in the parking lot -and about his room situated right next to theirs. On some level, he even wants to tell her that he _enjoyed_ conversing with the devil.

The only thing that stops him is a loud knocking sound on the door, causing them both to jump in shock. Beverly is the first to launch to her feet and fling it open, admitting a tired, if relieved Jimmy Price. Will perks up at the sight and stands to join them.

“You assholes,” are the first words out of Jimmy’s mouth. “Why I didn’t just make you fly back, I don’t know.”

“You love us,” Will states with a raised brow.

Jimmy grabs them both around the neck for a hug, and then lightly pushes them away. He looks over first Beverly and then Will, then turns back to the young woman and hugs her, sensing that she had been crying. Or maybe the smudged eyeliner tracking her cheeks had something to do with it. Will smiled at the sight of them both, while inwardly he wondered if Hannibal had seen Jimmy arrive and knew what that meant.

“Unfortunately,” Jimmy finally says jokingly. “Now move aside, my bladder is about to declare World War Three.”

They both laugh at their friend as he makes a beeline for the bathroom. Then it’s time to tidy up the room, returning their belongings to their bags. Beverly disappears out the front door for a time after her phone rings, and then Jimmy is back and he frowns heavily.

“This place is disgusting,” he shudders. “It’s a good thing I came here to save you.”

“Damn straight,” Will grins. “It was worse when we first got here. I felt like bugs were crawling on me.”

“Probably were,” Jimmy shakes his head and makes a disgusted noise. “Let’s get the hell out of here and find some place cleaner.”

The wordless announcement that Jimmy would be paying should have made Will offer his own funds, but he knows anything that would satisfy the man would be out of his measly budget. Jimmy leaves the room as Will finishes up. Alone, he fishes out the card from his dirty sweater, unfolds it, and eyes Hannibal’s elegant scrawl. It’s almost too easy to hunt down one of the motel pens, and he turns the card over and begins to write.

It’s also easy to slip it under Hannibal’s door when Jimmy and Beverly go to check out. Will thinks he sees the curtains flutter a bit before he walks away.

* * * *

“Now this is what I’m talking about,” Jimmy smiles at the hotel, sprawling high and shimmering white in the sun.

It’s nothing too spectacular, but compared to the motel, it’s heaven. It even has a pool. Jimmy books them a single room with two double beds for the night, requiring a comfortable place to rest after driving so far so fast. The room is large, with a stylish nightstand between the beds. A needlessly huge television sits on a white dresser adjacent, and off to the side there’s a couch, a round wooden table, and two fabric chairs situated around it. All in all, it has a similar layout, only cleaner, comfier, and on the top floor of the hotel.

Beverly opens the blinds wide and lets in the sun. Jimmy drops his single bag and then falls face-first onto one of the beds nearest the small bathroom’s wall.

“Wake me up never,” he says into the pillow, muffled and just barely understandable.

“We’ll go find food,” Beverly says quietly.

Together, after leaving their bags on the floor by the other bed, Will and Beverly leave the room and close the door. She pockets the keycard while he leads them to the elevator. There’s a restaurant at the bottom level of the hotel, and they head there, bypassing take-out and following the waiter to a table for two. Sitting, they arrange themselves and peruse the menu.

“Who’s paying?” she asks. “These are all pretty Price-y.”

She snickers at her own joke, and Will rolls his eyes, allowing a tiny smile. 

“Both of us?” he suggests. Beverly nods. “I don’t need anything big, anyway. I’m still feeling the grease off of those breakfast sandwiches.”

“That was hours ago, you big baby.”

Will shrugs and offers a smile, and Beverly chuckles. Before they left, she had cleaned her face and brushed her hair into some semblance of order. The black mass falls around her face and shoulders, framing her features pleasantly. Will remembers the plenty of embarrassing times that people had mistaken them as a couple. 

“Mmmm, grilled cheese,” his friend points at the menu. “Count me in.”

“Same,” Will thinks the price is agreeable. “And some 7-Up.”

They place their orders and wait patiently. Drinks arrive first, in large glasses with straws provided. Will fights the urge to launch the wrapper from his straw at Beverly, like they often do at McDonald’s or the like. Even if this place isn’t the fanciest of the fancy, Will still feels judging eyes around them. Their food arrives and they dig in happily. 

“So how weird is that, though,” Beverly speaks over a mouthful of cheese and buttery bread. “Getting a lift from a serial killer.”

She gauges his reaction, wondering if it’s okay to discuss this, considering how upset he had been.

“Fucking crazy, honestly,” he mutters, smirking at her.

He takes a noisy sip of his soda, and then leans across the table.

“Don’t you wonder why he didn’t kill us, though?” he asks, honestly curious about her answer.

“All jokes aside, yeah, I really do,” she shrugs. “And the whiskey, while nice, was a very odd offering. Maybe he’s lonely.”

Will wonders that same thing, privately. 

“Whatever the case,” Beverly continues. “He got us here safe, and soon we’ll be going home. Debateable whether or not I will continue to be safe.”

“Alana still mad?” Will winces.

“Yeah, she’s steaming,” his friend shrugs again. “I’ll just buy her some daffodils and give her a dozen orgasms. It’ll be okay.”

Will coughs, having taken a sip of his soda. His face turns red and he glares at Beverly, who bursts out laughing. She covers her mouth when an older couple nearby glares at them both, and Will just wants to completely erase the image now fixed in his brain.

“ _Way_ too much information,” he hisses finally. “Ugh. Still, she’s right to be pissed.”

“I know, dad,” black eyes roll to the ceiling. “But come on. You’ve got to admit it was all sort of cool.”

“He could have killed us,” Will frowns at her, pretending that inside he’s not wholeheartedly agreeing. It was more than cool. He eases into a smile, continuing; “But yes, it was. Not sure ‘cool’ is the word I would want to use. We’re like Harry Potter now. The ones who lived.”

Beverly starts laughing again, and no amount of glares can save them this time. They finish eating and sidle out of the restaurant, and together they climb the stairs to the top floor where their room is, forgoing the elevator full of people. Jimmy is sound asleep when they let themselves in, and Will and Beverly tip-toe to the free bed and bundle up under the warm duvet. The pillows are fluffy and clean and smell such, and they ease into sleep, Beverly first, and Will last.

Before his eyes close, Will remembers his message on the card. He imagines Hannibal retrieving it, flattening it out on the table before him, and reading his untidy letters. He falls asleep to the thought of sharp cheekbones and red demon eyes.

* * * *

Jimmy wakes up around nine in the evening, and wastes no time in turning the light on and disturbing the rest of his friends. Will groans and grumbles and gets out of bed, and Beverly tosses both of their pillows at Jimmy. Eventually, they are all awake enough to find a pub, and they order drinks (non alcoholic for Jimmy, who has to drive) and appetizers and relax. Their familiarity is easily apparent by the way they laugh rowdily, sharing stories and often-told jokes. Having arrived by foot, they leave the same, returning to the hotel at midnight. Jimmy has to corral his tipsy friends, and attempts to return them to their room without too much sound.

They stay up another two hours retelling the story of their ride with Hannibal Lecter, the impossibly polite man with the nice car.

At six, Jimmy’s alarm goes off, and Beverly curses loudly. She doesn’t stop even as they get ready to check out. When she’s sprawled on the backseat in Jimmy’s car, she’s still swearing at both men. Will groggily sits in the passenger seat and waits for Jimmy to start the engine.

“Now, now, kids,” Jimmy speaks over Beverly’s moans of complaint. “Don’t make me turn this car around.”

“We haven’t even left yet,” Will grumbles.

“Yeah, well,” Jimmy side-eyes him. “Shush, you. Go back to sleep, you grumpy fucks.”

They obey happily. Will falls asleep with his head leaning against the window, lulled into dreams by the motion of the car as Jimmy maneuvers them out of the parking lot and onto the streets, and then, soon, onto the highway. He heads West once more, and the long drive home commences.

Two days later, they are at Jimmy’s house, gathered at his dinner table with fries and cheeseburgers, courtesy of Brian, who flips off the barbecue and joins them reluctantly. While he’s okay with Beverly, the man has never been completely comfortable with Will around. Will suspects that he’s jealous of how much Jimmy obviously adores him, even though it is only in a friendly manner. He doesn’t say anything.

“To no more explosions,” Beverly lifts her glass of soda high, and Will clinks his against hers and echoes the sentiment.

“And no more bumming rides with serial killers!” Jimmy adds to the toast.

They all share a laugh, sans Brian, who rolls his eyes at them all. Jimmy squeezes his fingers, where their hands are clasped on the table between them.

Will smiles and eats his share of food, glad to be safe and warm and almost back to his own home. He’s sad that they didn’t finish their road trip, the same one they did every year, and have done for three years straight. But there’s nothing better than coming home, and he thinks of his little house in Wolf Trapp, Virginia with longing. That night, laying in one of the spare rooms, he can’t sleep. He thinks about Hannibal almost as if it’s a natural function now, a thing that underlies the other aspects of his days. The more time he spends away from the man, however, the more it all seems to have been a weird fever dream.

The next day, Will hugs Beverly and Jimmy goodbye at the airport, where his flight will take him to Virginia. Beverly’s own flight to Baltimore departs the next day. Will waves as he leaves to board the plane, luggage already taken care of. He sits in his seat and drowns out the rest of the economy class with thoughts of a man he isn’t sure he will ever see again. Much later, a cab drops him off at home. He lets himself in with a soft sound of happiness, and drops his stuff on the floor of his already cluttered living space. Next, he tosses himself onto his bed, where it lays awkwardly in the front room. 

The place feels instantly lonely, as it frequently does, and Will finds himself hard put to ignore it this time, after the last few eventful days. Everything lingers in his mind, crowded, until he can’t decide what to think about and what not to. Above it all, Hannibal Lecter remains, a King claiming his throne perhaps. Or the devil making himself comfortable. Will shuts his eyes and thinks about the card, about Beverly and Jimmy and Brian and how they have no clue about what he has done. He thinks about Alana Bloom and how beside herself she already was at the thought of he and Beverly sitting in a car with the man on the news.

Will can only smile.

* * * *

Somewhere, a man drives a silver vehicle long into the night. He heads northeast. Sitting on the dashboard, reclaimed anytime the bumpy roads shifted it out of sight, is a card, folded and sitting facedown to show the words written across it untidily.

 _Wolf Trapp is a pretty quiet place,_ the letters read simply.

Hannibal Lecter doesn’t quite smile. It’s the thought of blue eyes and tousled hair that causes one side of his mouth to lift minutely.

Just as Will confessed to, Hannibal is curious. He’s certain neither of them will be killed, however, cat or not.


End file.
